Maggie MacKeever (5 page)

“Rolf
does?” Lady Sweetbriar abandoned window curtains for the much more urgent consideration of a new threat to her intended inroads upon the Sweetbriar wealth. “Whatever for?”

To this suggestion that marriage was an undertaking entered into only for practical purposes, Clytie responded with a wry glance. “Because he is moonstruck, I assume—indeed, so I was told! Which reminds me, Nikki: Rolf is very annoyed because I will not repeat his warnings to Papa. He is very concerned that Papa can’t prevent you falling into scrapes.”

“And concerned also that I am on the dangle for a fortune?” Lady Sweetbriar inquired shrewdly, as she settled upon a high arched-back chair. “Silly chub! Avery knows I must have wealth, and if
he
doesn’t mind, and
you
don’t, what does it signify? Doubtless Rolf is afraid I won’t give him back the jewels.” She looked contemplative. “And so should he be.”

As always fascinated by conversation with her stepmama-to-be, Miss Clough seated herself on a nearby chair. “Why are you so adamant, Nikki? Papa will give you jewels of your own. Wouldn’t it be simpler to return those Lord Sweetbriar gave you to Rolf?”

“No, dear Clytie, it would not!” Did a guilty expression flitter across Lady Sweetbriar’s heart-shaped face? “Do not ask me to explain. Instead tell me who Rolf is hankering after—I mean, who he wishes to wed.”

Had a person not known Nikki’s background was irregular, Miss Clough thought fondly, Nikki would within five minutes of making their acquaintance have betrayed herself. Lady Sweetbriar was not exactly vulgar, even in her occasional lapses of speech; but her outlook was definitely not that of the créme de la créme. “Lady Regina Foliot,” replied Miss Clough. “You know of her, I think—why, Nikki, you have turned quite pale! Whatever is amiss?”

“Amiss? Everything!” Lady Sweetbriar was not one to mince words. “Rolf might as well allow the gull-gropers to get their talons fast in him as marry that—that stiff-rumped female! I know I should not call her so, but a spade by any other name still remains a spade. In the end it will come to the same thing, no matter
what
I call her, and it makes me very melancholy to think that Rolf will never speak to me again.”

“Never speak to you?” Astonished by her stepmama-to-be’s violent reaction to mention of Lady Regina Foliot, Miss Clough poured out a glassful of a restorative beverage, by the benefits of which her papa swore. “‘Gull-gropers’? I beg you will explain!”

“I had intended to.” Nikki took a large swallow of the restorative beverage, which was in large part alcohol, and wheezed. “Gull-gropers, moneylenders, cursed cent-per-cents; you know the breed. Not that you know thempersonally, of course, but
I
do!” Again Lady Sweetbriar applied to her glass, but this time took a smaller sip. “Should you ever have occasion to strike up an acquaintance with such fellows, Howard and Gibbs are the best of the breed—and even they talk on about securities and credentials until one wishes to scream.”

Miss Clough was very impressed by how quickly, as result of her papa’s favorite tonic, Lady Sweetbriar’s spirits had revived; and she thought that the next time her own mood was despondent she would seek succor by this same means. Presently, other matters were more pressing. “Have you been having deep doings, Nikki?” she asked.

“Deep doings? Piffle!” Despite her quick denial, Lady Sweetbriar wore a distinctly guilty look. “At any rate I am only a
teeny
bit scorched, and will soon come about again. It is nothing to concern yourself about, I promise! Rather, we should both concern ourselves with Rolf. He must marry where he wishes, of course; and if you assure me he is quite épris in that direction—but I am very fond of Rolf, even if he is determined to take away my jewels.”

Miss Clough sought to discover the source of her companion’s distress. “You do not think Lady Regina Foliot is suitable?” she inquired. “Why not? Despite the fact of her father’s, er, self-indulgence, Lady Regina is unexceptionable.”

“Self-indulgence?” hooted Lady Sweetbriar, as with a scornful glance she drained her glass. “Foliot is addicted both to the bottle and the table of green cloth and Lady Regina has naught in her head but vanity and an ambition to see herself luxuriously bestowed. You will think me dreadfully plain-spoken, dear Clytie, but it is very tedious to be forever trying to be a pretty-behaved female when at heart one is nothing of the sort! No, and nor is Lady Regina Foliot, because if there’s anything a fortune hunter learns, it’s to recognize another of the same breed.”

“Are you accusing Lady Regina of marrying Rolf merely for his wealth and position?” A certain tension at the base of Miss Clough’s neck caused her to think she might have recourse to her papa’s tonic sooner than she had anticipated. “You are severe, Nikki. To marry for monetary consideration is not so unusual a thing.”

“Silly girl; I know that! Aren’t I planning to do it myself for a second time?” Lady Sweetbriar threw back her head, so that she might drain the last drop from her glass, and then scrambled to prevent her emerald and diamond diadem from falling off. Somewhat breathlessly, she added: “But Lady Regina Foliot is an altogether different kettle of fish. She is one of the people who don’t
see
me even if I am smack in front of them, and though I do not ordinarily pay attention to such people, one can hardly overlook one’s own daughter-in-law. Doubtless the wretch will try and persuade poor Rolf to deal with me similarly.” A spark kindled in Nikki’s dark eye. “Doubtless she fancies herself wearing my jewels. Well, you have my word on that, Clytie: she
shan’t!”

Miss Clough, who had not hitherto taken seriously Lord Sweetbriar’s warnings about his stepmama’s tendency to tumble into scrapes, suffered an ominous presentiment. “Oh, Nikki! Why make such a piece of work of it?” she protested. “Surely you must realize that the only reason anyone would marry Rolf is for his position! As for the jewels, what do they matter? I have told you Papa will give you jewels that are even more fine. For that matter, I will give you Mama’s, do you but give Sweetbriar’s back!”

“What a good child you are.” A little tipsily, Lady Sweetbriar sought Miss Clough’s hand. “Tell me, Clytie, have you thought of marriage? I wouldn’t mind if it was you who had the Sweetbriar fortune in lieu of myself, because it would still be in the family. If you made a push, I’ll wager you could cut Lady Regina out in a trice.”

“And you think also that I would be most understanding about the jewels,” Miss Clough responded dryly. “Thank you, Nikki.”

Lady Sweetbriar wore her pretty pout. “You do not take me seriously. Then you may only blame yourself if you are left upon the shelf—not but what, with Avery forever puttering around with his old museum, I shan’t welcome your company.”

“On the shelf?” Definitely Miss Clough would have recourse to her papa’s tonic, as soon as her future stepmama took her leave. “Nikki, I am only nineteen!”

“Oh?” It was obvious from Lady Sweetbriar’s abstracted manner that she was deep in thought. “I
knew
I was not old enough to be your mama—no, or Rolf’s either. Poor, poor Rolf. Yes, and poor me! I must resign myself to being snubbed by my own daughter-in-law.”

Mention of snubs recalled to Miss Clough the swarthy gentleman she had so recently attempted to deliver a set-down, with such little success. With the intention of diverting Lady Sweetbriar from her unhappy thoughts, Clytie said: “It was the drollest thing, Nikki! Rolf thought he espied his papa’s ghost walking down Oxford Street this afternoon.”

“Reuben’s
ghost?”
Though Lady Sweetbriar had unquestionably been diverted, her expression had nothing in it of drollery. “Had you met my husband, Clytie, you would not say such a thing even in jest! I have often thought it would be just like Reuben to haunt us, because he enjoyed setting us on pins and needles, and even he could devise no better way to cut up a person’s peace.” Perfectly on cue, one of the old windows rattled in its casement. Nikki started and uttered a little shriek.

“Do not excite yourself, Nikki.” This time it was Miss Clough who caught Lady Sweetbriar’s diadem before it hit the floor. “It was not his papa Rolf saw. Moreover, Mr. Thorne volunteered himself as target should Lord Sweetbriar display any tendency to roam.”

A queer stillness fell over Lady Sweetbriar’s lively features. “Mr. Thorne?” she echoed, in a quiet, expressionless voice.

“Yes, Mr. Thorne.” If Nikki’s odd behavior was result of Sir Avery’s tonic, Miss Clough thought she would not indulge after all. “Rolf called him ‘Uncle Duke.’ He was but recently returned from Russia, I believe.”

“Duke.” Nikki retrieved her diadem from Clytie and placed it at a rakish angle upon her brow. “The rascal has come home, at last! Where is he now?”

“Why, I do not know. He was promised to dine with Rolf this evening.” Miss Clough recalled Marmaduke’s nonsensical sallies. His little ladybug, was she? The impudence! Self-consciously, she added: “Mr. Thorne asked to be remembered to you, Nikki.” But Lady Sweetbriar had already leaped to her feet, dashed through the doorway, and was halfway down the stair.

A short time after her abrupt departure from Sir Avery’s ancestral home, Lady Sweetbriar restlessly paced through her own little hired house, located on the south side of the New Road, in Fitzroy Square. It was an old brick eight-roomed structure, with two rooms and a large closet on the three floors above the basement, in which were a front and back kitchen. Additionally the house boasted a dark-paneled hallway which ended in an archway leading into a tiny garden enclosed by a high brick wall; and a broad staircase with a massive balustrade in the old style.

Down that stairway, Lady Sweetbriar tripped, en route to the first floor drawing room. On the threshold she paused, with a grimace of distaste. Pale green paper on the wall, pale satin hangings at the window, furniture upholstered in the same—to a lady who thirsted for floral designs and stripes, it was very dull stuff. But her surroundings, tedious as she might find them, could not long hold Nikki’s thoughts. She moved to one of the great Venetian windows which were the house’s saving feature, and looked out into the night. What she glimpsed there caused her to hastily step back, and glance in a somewhat frantic manner around the chamber, and arrange herself in an elegant posture upon a chair with padded arms and overstuffed seat. This dignified demeanor abandoned her immediately upon the withdrawal of the servant who had conducted her caller there. “Duke! You scoundrel! Oh, my darling, it has been so long!” cried Lady Sweetbriar, and hurled herself into Mr. Thorne’s arms.

Though her fiancé might have habitually responded with coolness to Lady Sweetbriar’s overtures, she did not ordinarily encounter difficulty in arousing gentlemanly ardor. Certainly Mr. Thorne’s reaction was quite as enthusiastic as any lady might have wished: he clasped Nikki to him in a very familiar manner, while she rained kisses on his face.

“If only I had pursued my
first
ambition!” cried Lady Sweetbriar, who between caresses continued to talk. “And stayed upon the stage! I might have become another Sarah Siddons, I think—but instead I encountered
you,
you rogue! Which reminds me that I have a crow to pluck with you, Duke.” She drew back sufficiently to award Mr. Thorne a very reproachful glance. “I do think you might have warned me Reuben was a cursed cheese-parer! A nipfarthing! A lickpenny! Because your brother left me the merest pittance upon which to exist—
not
that I haven’t contrived excellently on what little I
was
left.”

Mr. Thorne’s blue eyes rested assessingly upon the emeralds and diamonds and pearls which Lady Sweetbriar still wore. “So I see. Since you had just cast me aside in favor of my elder brother, explanations didn’t seem entirely appropriate.”

“Not
your elder brother!” Looking very earnest, Lady Sweetbriar stood on tiptoe and placed her hands one on each side of Mr. Thorne’s face. “Your elder brother’s fortune. There is a very great difference. Moreover I was very young, and thought it was a highly flattering alliance.” Her glance was shrewd. “And I knew
you
would never marry me!”

“There was always plain dealing between us, Nikki.” Though Marmaduke’s expression was amused, he made no effort to elude his captor, indeed clasped his own hands around her tiny waist. “You must not blame me if you stood on bad terms with my brother. You were quite content to have landed him, as I recall.”

“Yes, and had I known what I know now, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep him from wriggling off my hook!” Lady Sweetbriar released Mr. Thorne’s face and rested her hands upon his chest instead. “You need not try and make yourself out so noble; my memory is excellent. You were convulsed with laughter when you learned Reuben had made me an offer; you said you had shown me how to act the lady better than we thought.”

“And so I did.” Marmaduke touched a gentle knuckle to his companion’s pouting lips. “You
are
a lady now, Nikki. It was what you wanted, all those years ago. Don’t you think it a little late to complain that life as a ladyship was not precisely how you had anticipated it would be?”

"Precisely?”
Lady Sweetbriar recalled her late spouse’s reaction upon discovering he had not alienated the affections of a well-brought-up young woman, but instead had wed the daughter of strolling players, a damsel who had herself trod the boards. “You knew your brother better than I—and consequently must also have known we would ever be at daggers’ points! The merest observances of civility were beyond Reuben’s prowess, most days; I vow I spent most of my married life trying to coax him out of the sullens. Oh, it was a bad business, and just remembering it puts me out of frame.”

Mr. Thorne gazed down upon the dark curls which during this narration had come to rest upon his chest. As if curious, he touched his fingers to Lady Sweetbriar’s curls, upon which the diadem still sat. “My memory is also excellent, Nikki,” he retorted. “I only meant it as a prank. Reuben was bound to want you, as soon as he knew you were mine. Marriage was wholly
your
idea.”